


The Red Tie

by i_claudia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-25
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur gets fresh with Merlin during school hours. Merlin doesn’t really mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Tie

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ [here](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/71119.html). (25 May 2011)

Merlin gets no warning before Arthur yanks him from behind into a dark classroom, shutting the door on the crowded hallway decisively and trapping Merlin up against it.

“Idiot,” Merlin says, ignoring the little thrill that zips along his skin. “Gwen’s going to kill us if she comes in with a class and we’re here.”

“Gwen has this period off,” Arthur says with satisfaction. “I checked.” He’s staring at Merlin’s mouth in a way that sends heat rushing to pool deep in Merlin’s belly, makes his breath come faster, going shallow and uneven; Merlin tries to hide it but when the corner of Arthur’s mouth crook up in a tiny smirk he knows he’s failed terribly.

“What if students come in?” he tries. His voice wobbles. He can feel the heat coming off Arthur’s body... or is he only imagining that? The hairs on his arms give a delicious prickle.

“No one’s going to come in,” Arthur whispers, his lips just brushing the corners of Merlin’s, and then they’re kissing, Arthur’s mouth insistent, a little chapped from the dry air. Merlin resists half-heartedly for a moment, but he doesn’t really want to stop kissing Arthur, doesn’t want Arthur to step back and take his arms away from where they’ve wrapped around Merlin, pulling him close.

It’s a little gratifying too, a little exciting when Arthur tightens his arms around Merlin, muscles flexing as Merlin tries to pull away. Arthur’s been lifting more lately: he says just to stay in shape for the season, but Merlin just rolls his eyes and tells him he’s not supposed to be competing with a bunch of stupid teenagers.

The teenagers, Merlin thinks now, who are outside, mere feet away at their lockers, blissfully gossiping and whispering and being innocent and cruel and everything that adolescents are, with no idea that Doc P. is on the other side of the art room door with one hand dangerously close to the buttons on Mr Emrys’s trousers. He lets a leisurely grin grow wide, until Arthur growls and digs a hand into his hair, tugging impatiently and biting at his lower lip, tugging hard. 

“Less smiling,” Arthur says. “More kissing me.”

“Pushy,” replies Merlin, but he obeys anyway, presses in and runs a hand up the curve of Arthur’s ribs, delighting in the flex of the muscles there. Arthur’s mouth is hot and wet, demanding, and Merlin twists his fingers around Arthur’s tie when his knees go a little weak. It’s red, Arthur’s tie, a deep crimson that looks great cinched up close to Arthur’s neck and goes well with the charcoal sweater-vest Arthur is wearing—the vest Arthur _had_ to wear, Merlin realizes with a tiny swoon somewhere in the region of his stomach, because Merlin had, Jesus Christ, he’d _come_ all over this red tie the night before, cursing Arthur out until his mouth was blue with it, until Arthur had smirked and relented and let Merlin come for ages all over everything. 

Merlin has to dig his fingers a little harder into the tie, remembering that, has to loosen it so he can get at Arthur’s neck.

“Fuck, Merlin,” Arthur huffs. Merlin thinks he’s trying to sound annoyed, a warning not to leave marks, but it comes out sounding breathless and just barely needy.

“Aren’t you hot?” Merlin asks, relenting to lick a stripe up over Arthur’s throat, ending just beneath his ear.

“You say that like it’s a question.”

“I _meant_ , aren’t you warm in that?” Merlin corrects himself, scowling briefly. “In the vest?”

Arthur has somehow opened Merlin’s fly while Merlin was too distracted to notice, and he slides his fingers over the fuzzy hair growing low on Merlin’s stomach, teasing. “Mmm, worth it,” he says. Merlin goes a little dizzy thinking about it: about Arthur picking the tie up off the wreck of his bed that morning, smoothing the wrinkles out before looping it around his neck and pulling the vest on to cover up the worst of the stains, just so he can touch it during the day, smooth a hand down his chest while he’s teaching and remember Merlin spread out and groaning under him, begging for relief. 

“God, you’re insatiable,” Merlin says, and tugs at the tie for emphasis.

Arthur makes a noise which might be agreement, and slips his hand into Merlin’s boxers. Merlin swears at the touch, laying his head on Arthur’s shoulder while Arthur’s fingers stroke along his cock, calluses catching in deliciously interesting ways. “Arthur—”

Arthur shushes him. “You’ll have to be quiet, Merlin,” he says, his voice silky, barely above a whisper. “We don’t want anyone to come in to investigate. Think about it: a student, maybe, one of the peer mediators come to make sure no one’s crying over stolen lunch money; maybe Gwen; the headmaster, perhaps—”

“Christ, do _not_ talk about your father while your hand is on my cock,” Merlin says, and then Arthur is smiling wickedly and kissing him again, deep and slick and filthy. His fingers are clever, stroking all of the most sensitive places on Merlin’s dick until Merlin’s gasping into Arthur’s mouth, opening fully for Arthur’s tongue to plunder. Arthur’s thumb skids over the head of Merlin’s cock, and Merlin will deny until his dying breath that his knees lurch or that he has to cling to Arthur’s chest to stay upright at the feeling of Arthur’s ring sliding along the skin there. He won’t last long, not touching Arthur like this, everywhere he can, not with the effects of Arthur’s touch running hot and liquid through his body until every nerve is screaming.

It’s not that this is very new, or even that Arthur is very good at sex—though he really, _really_ is, not that Merlin will ever tell him as much—Merlin doesn’t really know why Arthur affects him so badly. There’s no reason for this to feel like the best handjob he’s ever had. It’s messy, and Arthur is far too grabby, feeling up Merlin’s arse with one hand while the other goes to town on his cock, but still, Jesus, Merlin’s about to come anyway, all over Arthur’s nice clothes, _again_.

“Arthur,” Merlin whines, pushing at Arthur’s shoulder, but Arthur only hitches Merlin’s leg up around his waist and licks Merlin’s ear, sloppy, and isn’t it typical that _that_ is what makes Merlin come with a deep groan, his head going back to bang painfully against the door while his hips judder forward uncontrollably into Arthur’s grip.

Arthur takes him through it, his body pressed up as close as he can to Merlin’s, his fingers pulling along Merlin’s cock until Merlin gets too sensitive to bear it and pushes him weakly away. Arthur only tilts his hips away, leaving his forehead touching Merlin’s, their chests brushing. He’d somehow pulled his vest high enough up that only the underside of it has Merlin’s spunk on it, though the silk shirt underneath is probably ruined. Now he folds it down again, carefully covering everything.

“I like it,” he whispers. “I like your come on me, I like knowing there’s a piece of you near me that no one else can see, that no one knows about but me.”

“God, you total _deviant_ ,” Merlin says; his cock twitches but even it knows he won’t be coming again anytime soon. Instead, he drops to his knees.

“Fuck, yes,” Arthur says, harsh, as Merlin noses along Arthur’s still-zipped fly, breathes hot over the outline of Arthur’s erection. Merlin smiles and goes for the zipper, not bothering with the leather belt. Arthur isn’t a talker—Merlin’s always been the loud one—and every sound Merlin manages to get out of him feels like triumph. He licks at the Arthur’s cock thoughtfully once he’s pulled it out, considering, and though Arthur makes a strangled noise he doesn’t ask for it, doesn’t say a word. Merlin suckles at the head, swiping his tongue over it in quick, teasing licks, until Arthur’s fingers twist hard in his hair.

Arthur’s prick is fat, almost too much for Merlin, but once Merlin opens wide enough it slides slick and perfect through his mouth. Arthur doesn’t move his hand, doesn’t so much as twitch one of his clenched fingers while Merlin bobs his head steadily, working his way further down, but Merlin can hear his labored breathing, feel the tension running through his body. Sometimes, when Merlin has the time for it, he can break down all that self-control, turn Arthur into a writhing, gasping mess, but there’s no time for it here. He tilts his head, hollows his cheeks, and sucks, reaching up to roll Arthur’s balls in his fingers, tickling the skin just behind them. Arthur’s panting now, but he hasn’t moved; Merlin pulls off in a huff to lick his lips, glaring up at Arthur, who swallows.

“You bastard, I have a class to teach,” Merlin grumbles. His voice is wrecked; fuck, how is he supposed to talk about the Crimean War when he sounds like this? Stronger tactics, he decides, are in order. 

“Come on,” he coaxes, pitching his voice low, husky. He trails his fingers up Arthur’s cock in a teasing caress. “Come on, Arthur, don’t you want it? Don’t you want to come for me? I want you to, want you to come in my mouth, fill me up so I taste you the rest of the day.” He rubs his cheek along Arthur’s dick, smearing pre-come over his jaw to the corner of his mouth.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and _whimpers_ , which is good enough for Merlin. He takes Arthur in again, dragging his tongue along the underside of Arthur’s cock, sinking down until he can’t go any further. He wraps his hand around the base of Arthur’s cock and goes to town, not caring about the spit that runs down his chin while he has Arthur gasping beneath his touch. Merlin moans around Arthur’s cock at the soft, choked noises Arthur’s making, feeling his own dick start to swell hopefully, and then Arthur is pulling _hard_ at Merlin’s hair and coming down his throat.

Merlin manages most of it, but some of it slips out to smear over his face, and he reaches a hand up to wipe it off. Arthur catches his wrist, his eyes still glazed from pleasure, and hauls him up to lick it off, chasing his own taste into Merlin’s mouth.

“I have to teach,” he says at last, letting Merlin go. Merlin rolls his eyes.

“You have to go play at blowing things up. _I_ have to teach.”

Arthur hums, giving him a smirk while Merlin finishes tucking himself into his trousers and reaches out to straighten Arthur’s tie. “You could have a go at—”

Merlin cinches Arthur’s tie up with perhaps a trifle more energy than necessary. “Don’t you dare,” he says, fighting vainly to hide the dopey smile that wants to plaster itself all over his face. “Can I see you this evening?”

Arthur shakes his head. “We have a meet this afternoon; won’t be back until late.”

Merlin crosses his arms and pretends not to feel disappointed. “Do you really have to go and watch kids throw sticks around? I’m sure they could do it unsupervised.”

“Javelins,” Arthur reminds him. “They’re called javelins. And I really, really do. But,” he adds, opening the door and throwing and absolutely _filthy_ look over his shoulder. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

Lunch, Merlin thinks, glancing at his watch after Arthur sails out into the nearly-empty corridor. It’ll take some time out of his prep period to set things up, but he’s been friends with the janitor for years and he knows no one else has the key to the boiler room. He might not be able to break Arthur every time, but there’s nothing against trying.

He smiles, runs his fingers through his hair—not that it does much good—and trots off to his classroom before his students start a riot.


End file.
